Angel in the Wings chapter one
by Sally Bahnsen
Summary: This is a post episode story for Fallen Angel. It contains gratuitous hurt/comfort and strong friendship between Mulder and Scully.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Angel in the Wings

Author: By Sally Bahnsen

Summary: Set early in season one. This is a fill-in-the-

gap for Fallen Angel story, covering the time between

Mulder being escorted from the warehouse by Colonel

Henderson and the night/morning before the hearing. This

is very much an MT/SC story.

Spoiler: Hmm, a rather big one for Fallen Angel.

Category: Angst, UST, MT, SC.

This was written approximately 10 years ago, but this is the first time I have posted it here at

Disclaimer: I don't own them, CC and 1013 do. If they

were mine, I would have taken better care of them and

definitely wouldn't have let the tall good looking one get

away!

I REPEAT, THIS IS SET EARLY IN SEASON ONE.

Angel in the Wings

Part one

Dockside, Lake Michigan, WI

6:30pm

Mulder sat alone, propped against one of the corrugated

iron walls close to the ruined door of the warehouse.

Scully circled her partner like a hungry wolf sizing up

its prey. Except Scully wasn't about to spring forth and

attack the man sitting on the ground. Well, not in the

literal sense anyway. She was more concerned with summing

up his physical well-being, not how much fight he had left

in him or how much resistance he would put up. That she

would have to deal with later.

"Mulder, can you stand?" He showed no sign he'd even

heard her question let alone having any intention of

answering it.

She didn't need his answer though, nor her medical degree

to determine what she already knew.

The fact that Mulder had been supported between two of

Colonel Henderson's men as he was 'escorted' from the scene

of Max Fenig's disappearance, coupled with the obvious limp

marring his usual self-assured swagger, was enough evidence

for Scully to suspect that something wasn't right with her

partner. When he was finally dumped unceremoniously onto

the ground outside the warehouse with little more

consideration than you'd give a bag of trash, and then made

no effort to rise, no attempt at retaliation and no smart

ass remark to Colonel Henderson as he was read the riot act

about interfering in a military operation- Scully knew

that everything was not sunshine and roses in Mulderland.

But what finally nailed it for her was when Mulder barely

raised an eyebrow as Henderson took great delight in

casting doubt on not only Mulder's parentage but his future

with the FBI as well.

"Mulder?" The military trucks rumbled past, their heavy

wheels vibrating through the concrete and wood surrounding

the docks. A few remaining soldiers obeyed hastily given

orders as they completed the final mop-up after the

explosion. Scully wondered whether Mulder was even aware

she beside him. Slowly though, he lifted his head and

looked at her.

"They took him, Scully." The words slid quietly from his

lips, low and husky, swelling with emotion.

"You mean, Max? Who took him, Mulder? I didn't see him

come out of the building with Henderson's men. Are you

sure he..."

"Not the military!" A fire blazed in his eyes, burned its

way into his words. The emotion that shook his voice was

raw, yet bolstered with conviction. "Max was abducted.

They came for him, and there was nothing I could do to stop

it." His growing guilt doused the fire, reducing it to

nothing more than a dying ember.

"Are you saying *aliens* took Max?" Scully knew Mulder

didn't need to hear the doubt in her voice, see the

disbelief written across her face, but this was as far as

her patience extended. She pinched the bridge of her nose

and let her chin drop to her chest. Her assignment hadn't

been to arrive in Wisconsin and chase aliens. She hadn't

been sent here to treat burn victims with injuries so

horrible it was akin to something out of a nuclear war

zone. Her orders had been clear and concise: get Mulder

back to DC immediately or risk having the X files shut

down. Permanently. "Mulder..." She paused, reluctant to

voice her thoughts. "I can't... No. I won't believe..."

"Scully! I saw it. I was there. You can deny it to

yourself, and you can try a thousand different ways to

attribute the circumstances of Max's disappearance to

whatever science you like. You can parcel it up in a nice

neat box and slot it away in which ever comfortable little

hidey-hole makes you feel safe, but you'll be wrong. Max

Fenig was abducted by aliens. I know it, the military knows

it."

"If that's true, Mulder, then there's not a damn thing we

can do about it." Scully paused, pursing her lips briefly

before continuing. "But we *can* do something about

keeping our jobs. I'll call the bureau and reschedule our

meeting with Section Chief McGrath, then I'll rebook us on

a flight out of here tonight."

"That's it? You're just going to leave?" Mulder stared

at Scully, his eyes narrowed and jaw slack.

"No. *We're* going to leave. Both of us." She heaved a

sigh, unwilling to meet his eyes. She knew what she'd see;

the same intense gaze that convinced her to stay in

Townsend in the first place. The same gaze that begged for

help-when was that? two days ago?-when all her senses

were screaming at her to return to DC the minute he was

released from the military compound.

Mulder remained silent, making no attempt to rise. He

tipped his head back against the wall and stared intently

at his partner. His left knee was drawn up to his chest,

the right leg stretched out in front of him.

"Can you get up, Mulder? Did you hurt yourself?" She

suspected the answer was no to the first question and yes

to the second, but was he going to admit to either one the

first time she asked? No. That's not how it worked. They

had a game to play, certain levels that had to be worked

through before the obvious could no longer be denied. It

was a stupid game, but the rules were set and neither of

them had the courage to stray from them.

Mulder released his gaze from Scully's face, the intensity

dissolving into disgust. He lowered his head so his chin

rested on his chest. When he spoke, the words were soft

and muffled within the folds of his leather jacket. "I'm

fine."

Crap. But she was too tired and too frustrated to push

him on it.

"Let's go then." Scully turned on her heel to head back

to the car. She heard Mulder mumble something under his

breath, heard the rustle of clothing and the scrape of his

boots on the ground, indicating he was getting to his feet.

Good. No more arguing.

What she didn't hear was the sound of his footsteps

following behind her. A shiver ran along her spine and a

prickling sensation stung the back of her neck. Scully

turned quickly and...dammit! Where the *hell* did he go?

xXx

Mulder watched his partner turn and walk away then pushed

himself wearily to his feet. He swayed slightly as the

blood drained from his head and pooled somewhere near his

toes forcing him to shuffle when he walked as if his legs

were tethered with chains.

He was so sick of the bullshit constantly dished out by

the government, tired of being snookered at every turn.

Max was gone, he knew that but he had to check one last

time. Make sure. As much as he respected Scully's

scientific view on things, welcomed her ideas, appreciated

the way she made him stop and consider that maybe

scientific reasoning was the more likely answer to some of

the paranormal questions he asked, this time he knew he was

right. Max was abducted by aliens, he would bet his

career, and his life on that fact.

Mulder limped painfully back to where the man had hovered

in the air as if suspended from wires. He closed his eyes,

reliving the last few seconds before Max disappeared. For

a second the sight of Max quivering up above him had

reminded Mulder of a giant marionette, one whose strings

were controlled by a cruel, invisible puppeteer. Then

before he'd had a chance to fully process what he was

seeing Max vanished in a flash of brilliant white light.

Regardless of what the Military said, of what Scully chose

to believe, he had no doubt about Max's fate.

Mulder rolled his shoulders, trying to ease muscles wound

tight with stress. His head ached and his ankle throbbed.

And there, in his injuries, lay at least some of the proof

he needed. No earthly being, no human predator, was

capable of exerting the force required to fling a grown man

30 feet through the air. Initially Mulder had thought he'd

been hit with a bolt of electricity. He remembered the

sensation of flying, having no control over his body. And

he had no trouble recollecting the jarring impact as his

body crashed into old shipping crates, wooden pallets and

rusted metal drums. Mulder had felt his ankle go as soon

as he hit the ground, felt the unmistakable agony as

ligaments tore, stretched beyond their normal range of

movement. At the time he'd done his best to ignore the

pain and push it to the side, a more pressing need to find

Max Fenig uppermost in his mind.

Now that the excitement was over, the adrenaline drained

from his blood stream, his ankle screamed for some much

needed attention. In fact his whole body was pleading with

him to take a break. Later, he told himself. Later he'd

have plenty of time to succumb to his exhaustion, but now

he had to try and find Max while there might still be a

chance.

"Max!" Mulder's voice echoed off the walls, bounced back

at him, empty and hollow.

"MAX!" Nothing. He stared down at the black baseball cap

still clutched in his hand. He traced a finger over the

initials embroidered across the front. NICAP. Another

intrepid soul in search of the truth. Yeah, Mulder

thought, the truth. The ever elusive, god damned truth.

Would this ultimately be his fate, too? Whisked away in a

beam of light? Would this be him next time he got too

close? When the government tired of their cat and mouse

game and simply removed him from the playing field so they

could play by rules they'd created for themselves. Rules

that no one seemed to have to answer to or be accountable

for. Damn them! He wouldn't lie down. Not this time, not

ever! And he'd tell Section Chief McGrath exactly what

happened here. He'd expose this for the cover-up he was

certain it was.

xXx

"Mulder!"

Empty silence roared back at Scully, taunting her. Scaring

her.

The blood stood still in her veins. Fear pounded in her

chest where her heart should have been. The little

scientific voice of reason, the one especially reserved for

field trips with Mulder whispered quietly and calmly in her

ear, reassuring her that Mulder was safe and hadn't met the

same fate as Max Fenig. But the other voice, the one that

seemed to have developed an overinflated sense of

importance since she started work on the X files told her

to get her ass into gear and find her partner *now*!

"Mulder!" She heard the panic rise in her voice. The

echo of her feet hitting the dock reverberated in direct

competition with the thud of her heart.

When she rounded the ruined door of the warehouse her nose

wrinkled in disgust as the acrid smell of charred wood and

smouldering rubber filled her nostrils. A soft swirl of

residual smoke hung in the air and stung her eyes as she

searched for Mulder in the gloomy darkness.

Scully pulled her weapon from its holster, comforted by

the weight of it nestled in the palm of her hand.

"Mulder?" Her voice sounded flat, swallowed up in the

vastness of the room surrounding her. Why the hell didn't

he answer?

And then she saw him; his body held stiff and tense as he

stood silhouetted against a stray shaft of light that had

wrestled its way through a crack in one of the walls. His

back was to her, both arms hanging limp by his sides. So

still.

Scully blew a soft puff of air from her lips and thought

about returning her gun to its holster until the memory of

a third person roaming in the warehouse earlier with Mulder

and Max made her think better of it.

She approached Mulder from behind, concerned at his lack

of movement, confused by the way he stared at the roof.

What was he looking at?

"Mulder." She called his name quietly, carefully, not

wanting to scare him. He remained silent and unresponsive.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" She was beside him now,

gently touching his arm. Despite her warnings he jumped,

startled as if roused from a deep sleep.

"This is the place, Scully. Right up there." She

followed his raised arm which pointed to a space above

their heads. "He just hung there, caught in a beam of

light." Mulder turned his head to look at her. The sadness

etched in his face struck her hard, sucking the breath from

her lungs as if she'd been punched in the stomach.

"I said I'd protect him. I promised he'd be safe." A

sharp snort followed his words. "Why should this time be

any different?" He slowly shook his head, "Where do I get

off thinking I could stop it from happening? This thing,

this force, it picked me up, Scully, and threw me across

the warehouse as if I was nothing more than a rag doll."

Conviction and anger flashed in his eyes as he rounded on

her, not giving her a chance to answer him.

She couldn't hide the doubt in her eyes, was too slow to

disguise her disbelief. She knew something had happened

here and right now she was at a loss to explain exactly

what. But aliens? No. There had to be a more plausable

answer.

"Don't question me on this, Scully. Max was abducted. The

military, the government, they're going to cover this up

under god knows what pretence, hiding the truth behind

sanctioned lies. And Max becomes nothing more than another

missing person's statistic. Just like that."

"Mulder. It doesn't have to be that way. We have the X

files. They are the means by which we can stop this, but

if we don't get back to DC... You know they're just

looking for an excuse to shut us down." She tugged on his

sleeve. "Let's go. Let's face McGrath and his inquiry. We

can save our jobs then go through official channels, get a

302 signed and come back to investigate what really

happened to Max with the bureau resources behind us."

A momentary flicker of hope shone in his eyes, a slight

lift of his lips as if Scully's suggestion held promise.

And then he nodded. Scully waited for him to move first,

not entirely convinced he wouldn't bail out on her again.

His initial steps were awkward, hesitant and he almost

stumbled as he slid past her. In Scully's opinion his face

looked too pale, even in the dim light of the warehouse.

Maybe now was the time to quit the game, lay the cards on

the table.

"You're hurt, Mulder."

He continued to push past, giving her concern only cursory

acknowledgement. "I'm fine."

xXx

As much as Mulder appreciated Scully's concern, at this

point in time he didn't feel as if he had the right to

expect it. Not yet anyway. Not so soon after losing

another human being to the hands of unidentified enemies.

He knew what lay in store for Max. He had dozens of case

files dealing with alien abduction. None of the victims'

testimonies were recounted in a positive light. Painful

tests, indescribable terror. Mulder imagined Max's fear,

his pain. The more he thought about it, the harder it

became for him to concentrate on anything else. His head

ached with the effort. He needed to clear his mind, try

and shake the nagging pain behind his eyes if he was to

have any hope of formulating a valid argument to take to

the hearing tomorrow. He knew he wasn't capable of driving

all the way to Green Bay, not in this condition. And to

top it off, the further he walked, the more it felt as if

his ankle was being squeezed in a vice. The thought of

having to operate the accelerator or the brake and maintain

any control over the car made him sick to his stomach.

Mulder dug in his pocket, feeling for the keys as he moved

towards the warehouse exit.

xXx

Despite Mulder's evasiveness, it was obvious to Scully as

she stood watching him, that he was favouring his right

foot. The earlier limp was more pronounced now as he tried

to keep the weight off his injured leg.

He turned briefly and spoke to her over his shoulder,

"What are you waiting for, Scully, don't we have a plane to

catch?"

She followed him back to the car, quietly observing him

from behind. Apparently Mulder wasn't ready to give the

game up yet. Scully wondered if she was overreacting.

Maybe his injury *was* only minor. And she almost had

herself convinced until Mulder unlocked the car doors,

handed her the keys without explanation and moved to the

passenger side. He may not be admitting it verbally, but

for Mulder to choose not to drive was proof enough for

Scully that her original suspicions were right. He was

hurting badly and just too pig headed to admit it.

"Mulder..."

"Time's a wasting, Scully."

Damn him! What the hell was his problem? She watched her

partner squeeze himself awkwardly into the passenger space.

xXx

Mulder sank down into the bucket seat, sighing as the

soft, plush padding wrapped itself around him, cushioning

his battered body. He reached down and adjusted the seat to

accommadote his long legs. But it was a mistake to slide

the chair back so carelessly. A sharp stab of pain shot

through his ankle when the uncontrolled movement jolted his

foot. Sweat broke out on his forehead, pooled under his

arms. He pursed his lips tightly together to prevent

himself from crying out. He didn't need Scully fussing

over him again. All he wanted was to go home to the

sanctuary of his apartment, collapse on his couch and for a

few short hours, forget the horrors of a world ruled by a

government hell bent on conspiracies and cover-ups. A

world he had no say in, no control over, yet one in which

he found himself to be a principal player.

xXx

Scully saw Mulder's lips compress into a thin line as the

sudden backward movement jerked his seat. Fine. Sit there

and suffer, Mulder. She was tired of his macho games, let

him come to her if he needed help, she'd be damned if she

was going to keep chasing him.

Sighing loudly, Scully pulled out her cell phone and put a

call through to the airline, then another to the FBI before

joining Mulder in the car. He had his head tipped back

against the headrest, a fine spattering of perspiration

glistened on his forehead, and while his eyes were closed,

his expression was anything but relaxed.

Scully caught herself just in time, again on the verge of

opening her mouth to ask if he was okay. Had she forgotten

her own promise so soon? What was it about the man sitting

beside her that made her want to protect him almost to the

point of smothering? It went deeper than the doctor in

her, she knew that. How did Mulder manage to bring out

both the best and the worst in her? How was it that he

could almost always convince her to go against her better

judgement? Ninety per cent of the time persuading her to

do things his way? It required no great act of genius to

figure it out. She knew exactly why he had this hold over

her. It was that damn bottom lip, those soulful eyes, the

way he looked at her: full of hope, expectation and trust.

As if by refusing him she would be committing the greatest

act of betrayal since Judas ratted on Jesus. Damn him!

"Scully? What did they say?"

Scully had almost forgotten Mulder was sitting beside her

and she jumped when the sound of his voice pulled her away

from her thoughts.

"The meeting with McGrath's been rescheduled for tomorrow

morning at ten." Scully leant down and worked the driver's

seat forward so she could reach the pedals.

"Did you get us on a flight?"

"Yeah. Nine o'clock tonight."

"We better hit the road then. We've got at least a two

hour drive ahead of us." Mulder rolled his head to the

side so he could see her better. As he turned, the pale

evening light caught his face, highlighting the unnatural

pallor to his skin. He didn't look well, and contrary to

her earlier thoughts-that she might be overreacting-now

Scully wondered if maybe it wasn't only his leg that was

bothering him but something more serious. Had he hit his

head when he was thrown through the air? Was she seeing

the early signs of concussion?

"Mulder..." It was out before she could stop herself.

"Scully, if it will put your mind at ease, I twisted my

ankle back in the warehouse and it throbs a little. My

head is aching in sympathy and that's why I asked you to

drive. Other than that, I'm fine, really."

It was all the explanation she was likely to get from him

and she knew she ought to be grateful for that much.

"Maybe I should examine you before we leave. Just to..."

"Scully. Two hours. Let's go." He settled back in the

seat, turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes.

Yeah, two hours, Scully thought, and no company.

Roadside Gas Station, Lena

Route 41

7.21pm

The car bumped and shook when the road surface switched

from smooth asphalt to the rutted, uneven concrete driveway

of a gas station. Mulder stirred as Scully pulled the car

to a halt outside the roadhouse. He stretched his legs

awkwardly in the confined space under the glove compartment

and attempted to sit up straight in his seat. Scully turned

to look at him when she heard him gasp, then saw him grab

at his lower leg.

"You okay?"

Mulder smiled sheepishly and moved his hand from where it

had been wrapped around his shin. "I'm thirsty. I could

use a soda."

"Diet Coke?" Scully asked, watching him suspiciously.

"Regular. I need a sugar fix." He smiled again.

"I'll be right back." Scully climbed out of the car and

headed into the diner, leaving Mulder to deal with his pain

in whatever way he saw fit when she wasn't there to worry.

xXx

Mulder let himself flop back in his seat. He closed his

eyes and took in some long slow breaths, glad of the brief

respite from Scully's eagle eye. He loved the fact that

she cared about him, but after so many years of flying solo-

-not only in his professional life but in his personal one

as well-sharing his pain or suffering, whether it be

physical or emotional with another person didn't come easy

to him. Sometimes he wondered if it ever would. Before

Scully, the only time anyone bothered to question his

health was when he had run himself so far into the ground

that his body had simply refused to function in any normal

capacity. He'd eventually collapse through sheer

exhaustion, slipping into a sleep so deep that not even

Bill Patterson's constant threats and harassment could coax

him back to consciousness. Mulder was the main man, the

star profiler and in most cases the victim's last dying

hope. The team needed him to be available 24 hours a day,

seven days a week. As far as Patterson was concerned there

wasn't time for the luxury of giving into the body's most

basic needs. But, thankfully, those days were over.

Relegated to a past that at times Mulder barely believed he

had lived through. Now, he had a real partner, someone to

watch his back, look out for him. Scully had proven

herself time and again. He knew she was there for him,

but he still had trouble getting used to the idea,

accepting her 'no-strings-attached' style of loyalty. When

sick or hurt he still preferred to slink off on his own and

lick his wounds in private.

Right now though, Mulder needed to stretch his legs. Maybe

the change in position would help to relieve the ache in

his foot. Sprains were such a pain in the ass. Especially

after the injury cooled down. From now on he knew it would

only get worse. Images of standing one-legged in the

shower like a lopsided crane played through his mind;

attempting to carry food or drink while balancing on

crutches, the pain that accompanied a badly timed moment of

forgetfulness or carelessness when he would inadvertently

step off on his injured foot. How the hell was he going to

work effectively while anchored to a pair of crutches like

a prisoner shackled to a ball and chain. And then of course

there was Scully. He'd be lucky if she would let him out

of his apartment at all once the hearing was over. Shit!

He didn't have time to be injured, he was in the middle of

a case!

Mulder yanked on the handle nestled near the armrest and

shouldered the car door open with enough force so that it

shook on its hinges threatening to slam back and hit him.

Carefully, he eased himself out of the car, making sure he

kept his right foot from making contact with the ground.

Being upright suddenly lost some of its appeal when his

vision started to blur and the pounding in his ankle

increased. Desperately he clutched at the car door with

one hand and the roof with the other. Without Scully there

to monitor his every move, he allowed himself a moment of

indulgence and released a long drawn-out groan. Oh God,

this sucked big time. Struggling to maintain some control

over his equilibrium he squeezed his eyes shut to block out

the dizziness and rested his head on the elbow of his right

arm.

It was going to be a long trip home.

xXx

Inside the roadhouse, Scully made a quick trip to the

bathroom before grabbing Mulder's coke and a coffee for

herself. On her way to the counter she passed the pharmacy

section. Her trip to Wisconsin had been so hastily

organised that she'd barely had time to throw some clothes

into an overnight bag. The need to include a first aid kit

in her packing had totally slipped her mind. She didn't

even have the obligatory Tylenol which she'd become

accustomed to carrying in her pocket not long after

starting work with Mulder. She'd discovered the necessity

of having painkillers on hand after their first case

together. Strangely enough it hadn't been for Mulder on

that occasion, but for her. Scully recalled how she'd

stuggled to write up her initial report for Blevins,

determined to show that she and her partner had been

investigating something their superiors would find credible

and not have it read like an excerpt from a Stephen King

novel. That was when she was first struck down with what

she'd affectionately come to refer to as a 'Mulder-

headache'. Of course Scully was immune to those now, she'd

quickly learned that trying to make sense of some of the

cases they investigated was a useless exercise. These days

she tended to only need the headache pills for those

special times when Mulder's never ending search for truth,

justice and the paranormal way became overly enthusiastic

and obsessive.

Although Tylenol was something Scully rarely needed for

herself these days, it was almost a mandatory requirement

to have them on hand for her accident-prone partner. In

fact it had barely taken her anytime at all before she'd

made the transition from carrying a simple packet of

painkillers to making sure there was a well-equipped first

aid kit available when they were out in the field. Even

though Scully knew damn well that to get any kind of

medication down Mulder's throat all but required five point

restraints and a naso gastric tube, there were those rare

occassions where he'd learned that pain relief was better

than pain endurance and he would casually ask if she had

anything on her. Scully figured today would be one of those

times. Eventually he would quit pretending he was fine and

accept her offer of help. And as always, she would be

there when he needed her.

Scully perused the shelves containing various over-the-

counter drugs. She finally decided on the Extra-strength

version of Tylenol. If Mulder resorted to asking for

painkillers then she knew he would have to be in a bad way.

By the time Scully returned to the car she could see that

Mulder had exited. He didn't see her at first and was

leaning against the door frame, left elbow perched on the

roof of the rental and right one draped over the door. She

took a few seconds to look him over. He was still a little

too pale for her liking, the pasty tone of his skin

accentuating the two-day old bruise on his cheek. Her eyes

travelled down to his injured right foot, which she noted

was held gingerly above the ground, most of his weight

resting on the left one. The way the cuff of his jeans met

the top of his boot made it impossible to gauge whether

there was swelling.

Scully handed Mulder his soda. He removed the straw then

the plastic lid and took a long swig. Guess he really was

thirsty and not just hedging after all, she thought to

herself.

"Mulder, sit down and let me take a look at your ankle."

Scully nodded at his foot and he immediately adjusted

himself so the toes were resting on the ground, giving a

little hop as he put some weight on it.

"No need, Scully. I know what's wrong and you looking at

it won't change anything." He glanced at his watch. "What

time did you say our plane was leaving?"

Nice side step partner. Change the subject and maybe

you'll be left alone. Scully wasn't in the mood for

playing pushy doctor to his uncooperative patient so she

let it slide for now. When he was ready to admit there was

a problem, she'd be there. In the meantime she was more

than willing to concentrate on getting them back to DC so

they could sort this mess out with Blevins and McGrath once

and for all. "Nine o'clock, Mulder. Let's get going."

xXx

Mulder lifted his knee then stretched it out again. It

didn't matter where he rested his foot, there was no place

that offered any kind of relief from the pain. Everytime

he changed position in the seat it only served to jar his

ankle and make it worse. He checked his watch. How much

longer would it be before they arrived at the airport and

he would be released from the confined hell of the too-

small rental car?

xXx

About 10 miles out from the airport, Mulder's constant

restless movements-shifting and rearranging himself in the

seat-were just about sending Scully to the nut house.

Every now and then he would snake a hand down between his

leg and the car door, surreptitiously cupping his ankle to

gently rub it.

"I have some Tylenol if you need it," she offered without

taking her eyes from the road.

"What?" He lifted his head sharply.

"If your foot's bothering you that much, I have some

Tylenol."

"I'm fine..."

"Don't even go there, Mulder!" She snapped back. "You're

not fine. I *have* painkillers so why the hell won't you

take them?" She regretted her tone the moment the words

were out of her mouth.

"I don't need painkillers." His answer was terse,

squeezed out through teeth locked tight together.

"Mulder, I don't understand you. Your ankle is obviously

giving you trouble, why not just take something to relieve

it."

Mulder heaved a deep sigh, brought both hands to his face

and scrubbed at his eyes. "I know you're only trying to

help, but I..." He turned to look at her, appearing to

struggle with what he needed to say. "I have my reasons,

Scully, let's just leave it at that."

Scully glanced across at her partner. What reasons could

he possibly have? She couldn't quite read the expression

on his face. She thought she saw guilt, but there was

something more. Was this connected with what happened to

his sister? What else had he suffered in his pursuit for

the truth? She wanted to ask him, wanted him to open up to

her, but now wasn't the time. If she pushed too hard he'd

clam up tight. It had to be on his terms, when he was ready.

Instead, Scully decided to offer him reassurance,

friendship. She smiled, and lightly touched his hand, just

to let him know she was there for him.

His shoulders lost their rigid set and his face relaxed

into a smile. The moment of tension eased and Scully

turned her attention back to the road as Mulder settled low

in his seat and closed his eyes again.

Austin Straubel International Airport

Green Bay WI.

8.31pm

Scully chewed on her lip as she watched her partner

struggle with the door. Mulder's movements were slow and

calculated as he pushed the car door open. She sensed his

apprehension but remained silent, quietly observing him as

he carefully manoeuvred his injured foot through the

opening. She was torn between wanting to jump to his aid

and being mindful of his need for privacy. It both annoyed

and saddened her that Mulder felt he couldn't confide in

her, reach out for help. Scully came to a decision as she

stepped out of the car. If he wasn't going to ask for

help, fine. That didn't mean she couldn't be of assistance

in a more subtle way.

She went to the trunk and pulled out their overnight bags

along with Mulder's brief case and Laptop. Scully had

earlier decided to drop Mulder and their bags outside the

terminal and then return the Taurus to the rental agency,

which was a further 100 yards down the road. At least that

way he wouldn't have to walk as far.

xXx

Mulder was just glad to be here and relieved to finally be

free of the confines of the car. He paused, hesitant to

stand, remembering the increased pain standing upright had

caused him at the roadhouse. He sat with his hands braced

against the edge of the door frame. He hated being

injured. He hated having to depend on others for help. He

hated operating at less than 100%. Heaving a frustrated

sigh he took a deep breath and hauled himself to his feet,

unable to stifle a groan as his right foot accidentally

made contact with the ground.

xXx

Scully heard Mulder grunt as he pulled himself the rest of

the way out of the car. She glanced up and saw him leaning

heavily against the door frame, his right foot held off the

ground again and his eyes shut tight. Damn him. She

slammed the lid of the trunk and went to his side.

"Can you make it inside?"

Mulder lifted his head and snapped his eyes open at the

sound of her voice. Scully was amazed at the sudden change

in his posture as he pulled himself to attention. She

couldn't help noticing that the earlier greyish tinge to

his skin had become positively chalky now.

"Come inside and sit with our bags while I take the car

back to the rental agency." She kept her voice steady,

even, not wanting to sound like she was intruding. Mulder

looked terrible and regardless of his insistence that he

was fine, she refused to accept his denials any longer.

To her surprise he smiled at her, a lopsided grin that

spoke of weariness and relief. Scully got the impression

that he was glad she had taken charge and was directing him

where to go.

"Wait here, I'll get a luggage cart." She didn't want to

be weighed down by their bags, wanted her hands free in

case Mulder should stumble and need her help.

Mulder nodded and slumped back against the car, right foot

still hovering off the ground.

"Excuse me ma'am, you can't leave your vehicle here. This

is a drop off point only." Scully turned at the sound of a

man's voice and came face to face with one of the airport

security officers.

No, not now. She didn't need this. They had less than 30

minutes to catch their flight and God knows how Mulder was

ever going to make it to the gate in that time. She pulled

out her badge in one swift motion and flashed it at the

uniformed man.

"I'm Special Agent Scully with the FBI and I can assure

you that I will only be leaving the car here for a minute

or two while I find a cart for our bags."

"I'm sorry, but you can't..." Was this man hard of

hearing or just plain stupid?

"Look, I don't have time to argue with you. My partner is

injured and I have no intention of making him walk from the

parking lot to the terminal. Again, I assure you that the

car will be gone in a few minutes."

"I wouldn't mess with her if I were you." Both sets of

eyes turned to stare at Mulder, still leaning against the

car, an amused glint in his eye. He gave a little shrug.

The security officer summed up the situation, taking in

Mulder's disheveled appearance and the way he was

favouring his right leg. "You know the airport have

wheelchairs you can borrow, I'm sure it wouldn't be any

trouble to arrange one for..."

"No! No. I'll be fine." And to prove he was as good as

his word, Mulder pushed himself away from the car and

tentatively put his right foot all the way to the ground.

Scully didn't think it was possible but he paled even more,

the blood literally drained from his face before their very

eyes. He stayed upright though. The man was a fighter,

Scully had to give him that. He took another couple of

limping steps towards Scully and the security officer, his

face set in a mask of concentration. "See, nothing to

worry about."

Yeah, right partner. And it's perfectly natural for your

face to match the colour of the pavement and a river of

perspiration to be streaming down your cheeks on a cool

November evening.

"Wait there." Scully was accustomed to throwing her

weight around when it came to Mulder's welfare. Hell,

she'd successfully pulled off a rescue mission of mammoth

proportions on their second case together, hauling Mulder's

ass out of another military compound and taking on one of

their security officers single-handed. After that, dealing

with officious individuals puffed up with their own self-

importance was no challenge at all.

Scully didn't waste another moment of her time with

airport security, deciding instead to let Mulder deal with

the man. She had a luggage cart to track down.

xXx

The security officer gave Mulder the critical eye.

Checking the agent out from head to toe. He then asked in

a rather dubious tone, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, my partner's a doctor. Trust me, nothing escapes

her notice and she is itching to get her hands on me."

Mulder smiled at the man, making sure reassurance oozed

from every pore.

The man stared back. Unconvinced.

"Seriously, I'll be fine. She really will take good care

of me." Mulder wanted this man to leave. He wasn't in the

mood for making nice with the locals. He had just about

reached the limit of good manners when the man seemed to

come to a decision. He nodded to Mulder and moved on his

way.

xXx

A little while later Scully was back with the cart. She

loaded their belongings and gave the cart to Mulder so he'd

have something to lean on as they made their way inside the

building. She helped get him seated and for once, was

pleased to note he accepted the situation without

complaint. Scully returned the car to the rental agency,

booked their overnight bags through the baggage section,

and collected their boarding passes. She and Mulder made

their way to Gate 6B for their flight back to DC. Scully

checked her watch. Providing the plane was on time, they

had about 8 minutes till their boarding call.

Mulder was finding it pretty slow going and for the first

time in their partnership, Scully had to slow her pace so

he could keep up with her. Knowing how the man hated to

have attention drawn to himself, Scully wasn't surprised

he'd refused to ride in a wheelchair. She had to smile.

Investigating the weird and unexplained was not the right

career move for someone who detested the limelight as much

as Mulder did.

By the time they were both seated in the boarding lounge,

Mulder was sweating profusely. He leaned forward, rested

his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his

hands. Scully stole a glance at him, slipped her hand into

her pocket and fingered the packet of Tylenol hidden there.

Just ask me Mulder, is that so hard? All you have to do is

say the word and pain relief is yours. She willed him to

ask the question but he continued to sit in silence, head

buried in his hands and breathing shallowly.

Flight AA432

Somewhere over the East Coast

10.35pm

Scully ran her eyes over Mulder's fingers. Long, sensual,

elegant. Yet strong and masculine. They'd often held her

mesmerized. Distracted her to the point where she would

completely lose the plot when he was talking to her. She

loved the way he twirled them through the air to emphasize

a point, stroked his bottom lip as he sat deep in thought,

became animated as his frustration grew when she didn't

quite see things the way he did.

One soft, smooth hand hung limp over the arm rest. Mulder

slept, blissfully unaware of his partner's fixated-like

inspection of his fingers. What would he think if he knew

she had studied every hair on the back of his hands, every

perfectly rounded, meticulously trimmed finger nail? Knew

that she was intrigued by the little half moons nestled

against the cuticle where the nails slid under the skin?

There was a time when she felt guilty about her 'in-flight

observations', but as the habit became more practiced, and

she became more adept at avoiding being caught in the act,

the guilt lessened until eventually it faded into obscurity.

She stared in unadulterated appreciation as his fingers

twitched and flexed in sleep. Twitched, flexed, opened,

closed, jerked. Clenched into a fist. Wrenched open, then

pulled into a tight fist again. Scully dragged her eyes

from Mulder's hands and studied his face. She'd been glad

when he'd fallen asleep. She knew he was uncomfortable

stuffed into the restricted space of economy class seating.

He'd drifted off about 30 minutes ago, finally putting an

end to his constant fidgety movements. But now, she could

see his expression had changed from a state of relaxed

slumber to one of fitful restlessness. His brow creased

into a frown, lines stood out around his eyes like contours

on a map.

Scully sat forward in her seat when she heard a quiet

groan. She watched as Mulder clutched at his thigh. He

attempted to stretch his right leg under the seat in front,

gasped sharply and groaned again.

xXx

Mulder was in that place between sleep and wakefulness. A

place where discomfort was usually the only thing that kept

the sleep of the dead at bay. Grateful didn't even begin

to describe how he'd felt when he'd eventually made it onto

the plane, found his seat and was finally able to take the

weight off his foot. He'd been overjoyed on discovering

the near-empty plane and deliriously relieved that he

wouldn't have to share the seating.

When he'd first sat down, the pain had receded

significantly. Now, though, Mulder was finding it

impossible to settle into a comfortable position. The

relentless throb in his foot was pushing him beyond the

edge of his tolerance where he teetered just short of

begging for something to kill the pain. Again he tried to

stretch his leg, but in doing so he jarred his foot,

pulling on already over-taxed ligaments. The pain that

shot through his ankle was pure agony. He folded over and

grabbed his leg.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asked as she reached

across the aisle and gently touched his arm.

Mulder pushed his head against the seat in front as his

other hand joined the first, both wrapped protectively

around his injured foot. "Oh God, Scully."

"Mulder..."

He sat up and regarded his partner through pain-filled

eyes. "Scully, do you have anything?"

"Hang on." Scully pulled the Tylenol from her pocket and

hit the call button for the flight attendant. With her

left hand she clicked the seat belt free to give her better

access to her partner.

"What...are you...doing?" Another throbbing wave of pain

swept through his foot. "Arh, shit." He bent over and

clutched his ankle again.

Before she could answer, the flight attendant arrived.

"Ma'am, can I help you?"

Scully looked up into the concerned face of a female

flight attendant. "Could you get me a glass of water,

please?"

"Is he all right?" The flight attendant fixed her eyes

squarely on Mulder.

"I think so. At least he should be after I give him

something for the pain."

"Is he sick?"

"Sprained ankle. I hope."

The flight attendant didn't look entirely convinced, but

had the sense not to waste time arguing. "Okay, I'll be

back in a second." And she left.

"Can you scoot over by the window?" Scully leant across

Mulder's body and raised the armrests.

Mulder twisted slowly in his seat, doing his best to keep

his foot steady as he moved towards the window and leaned

his back against the plane's fuselage.

"Scully..."

"Lift your foot up here, Mulder." Scully grabbed the

airline pillow from her seat, reached over again and

snagged the one Mulder had been using. Gently, she helped

him raise his foot so it was propped on the pillows she'd

piled up against the arm rest. She started to loosen the

laces on his boot when she felt a hand on hers.

"Scully...relax, this isn't a medical emergency." Mulder

smiled, it seemed a genuine enough smile but she could

clearly see the effort it took him to not end it in a

grimace.

"Shutup, Mulder, and let me be the best judge of that."

Carefully she eased the boot from his foot and pushed the

cuff of his jeans up. "Oh, Mulder." The outside of his

ankle looked like someone had shoved a tennis ball down the

side of his sock. "We need to stop this from swelling

further."

Mulder raised himself up to get a look at the offending

injury. "Shit," he gasped, and slumped back against the

window.

"Here you go, ma'am." The flight attendant returned and

handed Scully the water. "Ooh, that looks nasty," she

commented, screwing her face up in sympathy. "Did you

fall, sir?"

Mulder gave a short sharp laugh, "Yeah, kind of."

"I'll get some ice and a first aid kit." And she was gone

before either of them could answer her. Scully found it a

welcome relief not to have to explain to the woman what she

needed to treat her partner.

Scully popped 3 Tylenol from the pack and handed them to

Mulder with the glass of water.

"Three, Scully?" He asked, rolling the pills around in the

palm of his hand.

"Trust me, you're going to need them if the look of this

is anything to go by." She paused and caught his eyes with

her own, "Mulder, why didn't you say something earlier.

This should have had ice on it right away."

He shrugged, swallowed the pills and said, "You know how

it is."

No. No she didn't. But that wasn't true. She did know

how it was with Mulder, she just didn't understand it.

"I'm going to remove your sock."

"You might want to pull down one of those oxygen masks

before you do. My socks are about ready to stand up on

their own." Although his tone was light, the furrow in his

brow reminded her of the pain he was in.

"I'm sure we'll survive." She smiled at him. "Tell me if

I'm hurting you too much." Scully gently moved the top of

his sock down around his ankle. She heard her partner gasp

as she manoeuvred it over the worst of the swollen area.

"Sorry."

"Mm. It's okay." His words came quick, strained.

xXx

Mulder knew Scully was trying to be gentle. Just as he

knew it was taking every ounce of self discipline he had

not to leap off the seat and make a desperate escape

through the emergency exit. It didn't matter that she was

doing her best to keep his foot still while she slowly

worked the sock off. Every little movement sent the

damaged ligaments into a frenzy of protest. Mulder could

feel his fingers digging into the cloth seat, his jaw

tightening and his teeth pressing together. Even though he

tried, he wasn't able to stop himself flinching when his

ankle twisted slightly as Scully pulled the sock from

around the injury.

xXx

"Excuse me ma'am." The flight attendant had returned.

Scully was tired of thinking of her as 'the flight

attendant'. If this woman was going to be assisting with

Mulder's care, Scully wanted to be able to call her by

name. She stole a quick glance at the name badge pinned to

her airline uniform. Maria.

"I have some ice and a first aid kit. Would you like me

to take a look at your friend, I'm first aid trained."

Maria offered.

Scully smiled her thanks at the woman standing beside her,

"It's okay, I'm a doctor. I don't think there's a lot more

that can be done apart from icing the injury and keeping

him as comfortable as possible until we land."

Maria handed the first aid kit to Scully. "You'll find

everything you need in here. If not, we have a larger one

at the front of the plane."

xXx

Mulder watched on in silence, quietly observing the

exchange between the two women. He always found it

fascinating when Scully shrugged off her FBI personna and

became Dr Scully. It was like flicking a switch. She slid

into the role with ease. As usual her manner was cool,

calm and composed, taking a step back from their personal

friendship and viewing the situation with an air of

detachment. Always the professional, Mulder thought with

affection. He wondered whether Scully ever regretted her

decision to join the FBI instead of pursuing a career in

medicine. He sometimes felt her medical qualifications

would be better utilised in a busy emergency room, rather

than in the cold, sterile environment of an autopsy bay.

He'd like to ask her, but what if she said yes? What if

she did regret choosing law enforcement, or worse still,

resented being partnered with him?

"Do you think it's broken?" Maria asked.

"It's almost impossible to tell without an X-Ray. There's

a lot of swelling which is usually associated with ligament

or tendon damage and the fact that he has been able to bear

weight on it is a good sign. Still...he has been in severe

pain, which seems to have gotten worse rather than easing

off...I guess we won't know for sure till we stop by the

emergency room."

If there was one thing Mulder detested more than being

made a fuss of when he was injured-more than being the

focus of his partner's and whoever she could coerce into

assisting in her sometimes overzealous medical

ministrations-it was being talked about as if he wasn't

there. As if he was some kind of apparition that bore no

ability to see, hear or think.

Mulder cleared his throat.

"Scully. My ankle is *not* broken. It's a sprain. It's

not the first time I've had one and probably won't be the

last. I don't need to stop by the emergency room, and I

don't need an X-ray. I'll be fine by morning."

There was a certain look Scully got on her face when

Mulder was in mid debate over a particularly wild theory.

He wasn't sure if it was a conscious effort on Scully's

part or merely a reflex reaction when her mind was forced

to process data it regarded as complete and utter bullshit.

Mulder saw the same look on her face now. Just before she

turned to Maria and offered her a broad smile.

"Thank you for your help, I think we'll be fine now."

Maria nodded and said, "Just give me a call if you need

anything. We're not busy so please don't hesitate."

Scully nodded and watched Maria return to her duties at

the front of the plane before turning her attention back to

her partner.

Mulder braced himself for the onslaught. Usually, right

about now, Scully would begin expounding the virtues of

science versus the absolute lunacy of whatever it was

Mulder was trying to convince her of. Somehow he doubted

that the words about to come out of her mouth now would

bear any resemblance to science.

To his surprise, she didn't even speak. Scully laid the

icepack wrapped in cloth gently against his swollen ankle,

the sudden cold and pressure on his injury made him gasp.

Still she kept her attention focused solely on his foot.

The silence was more than he could stand.

"Scully? Did you hear me? I said..."

"I heard you."

"And you agree?"

Scully looked up to meet Mulder's gaze. Did she want to

get into another argument with him? Was it worth it? Her

gut instinct told her Mulder should have his ankle X-rayed

tonight, but it was so late and she knew he was probably

right. It was more than likely a sprain, albeit a bad one.

She felt fairly certain that given proper care and

attention, he could avoid a trip to the ER. She also knew

that if there was no improvement, no reduction in swelling

or pain by morning, then she could and would take Mulder

straight to the nearest hospital. Reluctantly she

conceded. "I agree. We'll get you home, continue with

treatment and if you are no better by morning, then we hit

the ER. Okay?"

She took his grin as a yes.

Fifteen minutes later, Scully had the ice taken away and

Mulder's foot securely wrapped in an Ace bandage. "How

does it feel, not too tight?"

Mulder tentatively wriggled his toes and said, "It feels

fine. Thanks."

"When we start to land, try and get your shoe back on,

it'll be easier to walk. If it's too tight loosen the

laces." She paused for a second, thinking. "I don't

suppose I could talk you into using a wheelchair?"

The look he gave her told Scully in no uncertain terms

exactly where she could stick the wheelchair. She sighed

before answering, "I didn't think so."

End of part one


	2. Chapter 2

An Angel in the Wings. Part two

By Sally Bahnsen

Dulles International Airport Washington D.C.

11:39 pm

The first step was the worst. Mulder knew his ankle would

stiffen up during the flight and after a long period of

inactivity. Even though he'd had sprains before, he wasn't

quite prepared for the agonising pain that engulfed his foot

when he tried to walk. Each time he put his foot to the

ground, no matter how careful he was, it felt as if he was

living through a nightmare that sent his stomach churning

and a distant roar humming through his ears. As they made

their way through the terminal he could sense Scully

hovering by his side, wanting to help him but unsure what to

do.

Being so adamant about refusing a wheelchair was beginning

to feel like a big mistake. Mulder wondered if maybe he

hadn't been a little hasty in rejecting Scully's suggestion.

The thought of sitting down and taking the weight off his

ankle seemed like a really good idea right about now. But

pride was a hard thing to swallow, so instead, he continued

his slow painful walk towards the baggage claim area,

relying on frequent stops to catch his breath and the solid

cement wall to keep him upright while he paused to rest.

xXx

Scully took a deep breath, held it then let it out slowly.

It was no use. The lump of lead in her stomach remained,

growing heavier each time she had to slow her pace so Mulder

could keep up with her. She'd offered him more painkillers

just before the plane landed, but he'd steadfastly refused.

"Mulder? Can you make it a little further? Let's try and

get to the seat over there, then you can rest more

comfortably for awhile." Scully didn't like the vacant

expression in her partner's eyes or the way he had his

bottom lip pulled firmly under his top teeth. "Come on,

I'll give you a hand." She looped her left arm through his

right, trying to offer him some kind of support. Mulder

nodded his head once, a short sharp movement, and gritted

his teeth as he pushed himself away from the wall.

xXx

He hated being injured. The pain, the inconvenience, but

most of all, he found it almost unbearably embarrassing.

Even though it was late, there were still plenty of people

milling around the terminal. Mulder felt as if all eyes

were on him, following his every move. He just wanted to

get out of there, back to the privacy of his apartment where

he could suffer in peace. Moan and groan to his heart's

content where no-one would hear him or look at him or wonder

what was wrong with him. But more than anything, he needed

to get horizontal, take the weight off his foot.

"Here, sit down." Scully helped ease Mulder into the chair.

He leant forward and wrapped his hand around his ankle,

bending down and allowing his head to drop into the crook of

his left arm which rested across his knees. He couldn't

care less now what people thought of him. It wasn't like he

was ever going to see them again. Gradually he became aware

of a light pressure on his back. A hand moving in slow

circles across his shoulders. He lifted his head and looked

up at his partner. Scully smiled at him, a small nod of

encouragement, reassurance. And he realised then how glad

he was that she was there, helping him. How much he'd come

to rely on her. It amazed him actually, the way she had

burrowed her way into his heart in such a short time, had

become an intrinsic, necessary part of his life. Mulder

pulled himself straighter in the chair and put his hand on

Scully's arm, gave it a gentle squeeze and said, "I'm okay.

Let's get this show on the road, I've just about had enough

of airports for one day."

"Do you think you can make it the rest of the way? When we

get to the baggage area, I can get you a cart to lean on."

Mulder nodded and pushed himself shakily to his feet, using

the toes of his right foot to help balance him. "Let's go."

xXx

By the time they reached the baggage area, Mulder looked as

if he was ready to drop. Scully sat him in one of the few

airport chairs lining the wall and waited for their bags to

roll down the chute onto the carousel.

While she stood waiting, Scully kept a watchful eye on her

partner. She wondered who had taken care of him before she

came along, and then figured that he probably just did what

he tried to do with her. Shrug off his injuries and get on

with the job. Or maybe his mother had come and watched over

him, made sure he ate well, wiped his brow and soothed him

with gentle words. He didn't talk about his mom very often.

Scully knew there'd been a rift in the family. He'd told her

as much on their first case together. Her thoughts turned

to Mulder's father. Was he proud of his son? She knew how

desperately she sought approval from her own father,

especially given his concerns about her joining the FBI.

But it was different for a guy. Why wouldn't Mulder's

father be proud of him? He'd done well for himself in the

bureau. Top of his class at Quantico, been responsible for

writing the profile which eventually led to the arrest of a

notorious serial killer. He'd been the golden boy in the

VCS, of course his parents would be proud of him.

A few minutes later, Scully had their bags loaded onto a

luggage cart and headed back to Mulder. He sat with his

head against the wall, eyes closed, both hands absently

rubbing at his right leg, just above the knee.

"Hey."

Mulder lifted his head from the wall and stared up at

Scully, his brow creased in concentration.

"Ready to go?"

"Mm. Yeah. Sorry, I guess I dozed off." He scrubbed at

his face roughly, trying to clear the fuzziness in his head,

then braced his hands on either side of the seat and pushed

himself to his feet. He stumbled slightly as he shifted his

weight to his left leg.

"Here Mulder, take the cart, you can lean on it till we get

out front. I'll bring the car around and pick you up."

He nodded quickly and gripped the handle of the cart, glad

to finally have something to help him walk.

xXx

Route 495

12.45am

Mulder had never been so grateful in his life to feel the

soft cushions of a car seat underneath his butt. The

Tylenol he'd had on the plane had barely taken the edge off

his pain and now the throbbing in his ankle was back with a

vengeance. It didn't take Einstein to figure out that

traipsing around the airport hadn't done him any favours. He

felt as if his heart had slipped from his chest and landed

in his foot, pounding an agonizing rhythm right through his

ankle. He couldn't quite remember feeling so lousy with a

sprain before. Maybe Scully was right, maybe he had broken

something this time.

And he felt cold. No matter how high he turned up the heat,

he couldn't get warm. Suddenly Mulder felt ashamed of

himself. Max was out there somewhere, having God only knows

what kind of tests performed on him and here he was

suffering meltdown over a twisted ankle. It was good that

he was in pain, it was right that he should suffer. Because

of him Max had been abducted, because of him Samantha had

been taken, because of him his mother and father had

divorced. And the list went on. How dare he gripe about

his pain? He sunk further down in his seat, wrapped his

arms around his chest and tried unsuccessfully to still the

shivering that wracked his body.

xXx

Scully knew she should be tired. Exhausted in fact. She'd

barely had any sleep the night before, had worked long hours

beside Dr Oppenheim trying to save Colonel Henderson's men.

But her concern for her partner kept her alert, pumping a

steady supply of adrenaline into her blood stream. Mulder

had again refused the pain killers she'd offered him as they

pulled away from the airport. Instead, he had turned up the

heat in the car, slumped against the passenger side door and

wrapped his arms around his body. She was worried about him.

The little doctor voice in her head nagged at her like an

aching tooth. Telling her to take her partner to the

hospital, but she'd promised to hold off until morning. She

was getting dizzy switching her gaze between the road and

her partner. In the end she decided to stick to the

original plan. He would probably benefit more from rest

than a long wait in the emergency room.

42 Hegel Place

Arlington

1:15am

Scully leant over and shook Mulder's arm. "Hey, we're here.

Wake up." Mulder turned in his seat and stretched his arms

over his head, easing the kinks out of his neck. He looked

around, slightly bewildered.

"What time is it?"

"A quarter after one. Come on, let's get you inside."

Scully climbed from the car and went around to help him. At

least he was willing to accept her assistance now. She

slipped his right arm over her shoulder, allowing him to

transfer some of his weight to her. The height difference

made it awkward and ungainly, and quite frankly she wasn't

sure just how much help she was really being but she felt

better to be doing at least *something* constructive.

As they approached the steps leading to the building's

entrance, Mulder pulled his arm from around Scully and used

the banister to lean on while he made his way up the few

concrete stairs. Scully went ahead to open the door,

waiting as Mulder limped gingerly past her.

Inside the elevator Mulder leaned with his back against the

wall, taking up what was becoming a familiar pose; head

tilted back, eyes closed, right foot hovering those few

inches off the ground. He looked exhausted. Scully

wondered how he was even managing to stay upright. She'd

witnessed a slow deterioration in both his physical and

mental condition since Max had disappeared. Some of it

could be attributed to the pain, the sheer fatigue he was

suffering, but she suspected that what had happened to Max

was a bigger factor in his poor mental state than his injury

was. She chewed on her lip, studying her partner closely,

wishing the cure to Mulder's self recrimination was as easy

to prescribe as the treatment for his physical injury.

The elevator dinged it's arrival on the fourth floor and the

doors opened automatically. Mulder didn't move, he remained

propped against the wall. Scully took a step towards him

just as he started to list dangerously to the side.

"Mulder!" She hadn't meant to call out quite so loud.

Certainly hadn't meant to startle him the way she did. He

snapped to attention slamming both feet hard against the

ground to keep from falling.

xXx

"SHIT!" Mulder bent over, clutched his right shin and

raised his foot off the floor. "Shit. Shit!" He groaned,

eyes clenched tightly shut as wave after wave of pure agony

shot through his ankle and up his leg.

Somewhere in his peripheral consciousness he was aware of

Scully sliding her hand under his arm, preventing him from

collapsing all the way to the ground. Mulder could hear her

talking to him, but the buzzing noise in his head, filling

his ears and his thoughts, made it impossible to decipher

the words. He needed a minute. If he could just let Scully

know he needed some time to work through the pain then he

might be okay. But all his attention was focused on making

his lungs work and convincing his stomach to stay where it

was instead of trying to climb up his throat. Gradually the

roaring in his ears lessened, the agony in his ankle reduced

to a more managable level and with a little effort he

thought he might be able to concentrate on what Scully was

actually saying to him.

"...orry, Mulder. "I'm sorry."

Slowly, Mulder pushed himself up, breathing heavily and

giving his head a quick shake.

"Mulder?"

"I'm all right. I'm okay." He could hear the huskiness in

his voice and the words felt thick on his tongue.

"Can you make it to your apartment?"

"Mm. Yeah." He rummaged in his pocket and found his keys.

"Here, you go ahead. Open the door. I'll be along in a

second."

Scully gave him a doubtful look.

"Really. I'll be there."

"Humor me, Mulder, and come out into the hallway first. I

don't want to spend the rest of the night trying to catch a

runaway elevator with my unconscious partner trapped

inside."

She had a point. Carefully he hopped out of the lift not

even allowing the tips of the toes on his right foot to

touch the ground. Scully gave him one last look before

leaving to open his door.

Mulder hurt all over. His ankle throbbed mercilessly, his

head pounded, the muscles in his shoulders were bunched so

tight that he wondered if he would be able to turn his head

the next day. And he had no idea how he would ever be able

to formulate any kind of argument to defend himself or fight

for his job when he had to face the OPR in the morning.

xXx

Scully fumbled with the bunch of keys, her actions clumsy in

her haste to open the door. Finally she inserted the right

one, turned the lock and pushed the door open. The

apartment was dark, smelled musty. She flicked the light

switch on then made her way inside. She cleared a path for

Mulder, turning more lights on as she went. Satisfied that

her partner would be able to make it to the couch without

tripping or crashing into any badly placed furniture, Scully

returned to the hallway to see if he needed any help.

xXx

Mulder had thought the short distance from the elevator to

his apartment would prove little challenge for him. He

figured he'd just use the wall as support and maybe hop the

rest of the way. That was the plan. Except everytime he

went to take off, his apartment building had mistakenly

taken on the role of a carnival carousel, turning itself in

dizzying circles, undulating up and down as Mulder fought to

keep his stomach contents from decorating the wall, floor

and probably himself. By the time Scully returned he'd

barely made any progress at all.

"Mulder!"

Mulder lifted his head from where it was resting against the

cool plaster wall, squinting in an effort to clear his

vision. He could just make out Scully hurrying towards him.

Thank god. No more games. He was now ready to accept any

help she could give him.

Scully gently pulled at his arm.

"Mulder, here. Put your arm around me." Scully wrapped his

right arm around her shoulders. "Let me help you."

He did. Gladly.

"Try and keep the weight off your ankle, Mulder. Hop if you

have to, I've got you." Mulder almost found the strength to

smile at her suggestion. Although he admired Scully's grit

and determination, he really didn't think that she'd be able

to do much more than go down with him should he start to

topple towards the ground. Still, he appreciated the gesture

and did his best to do as she asked.

Finally, they reached the door of his apartment. Untangling

his arm from Scully, Mulder gritted his teeth and hopped the

rest of the way to his couch.

Relief washed over him in a soothing wave as soon as he sat

down. Leather had never felt so good. Now if he could just

get his ankle to stop aching and the nausea to settle down,

he'd be a happy man.

"Lie back and lift your foot up. I've got some cushions to

put under it."

At the sound of his partner's voice, Mulder forced his eyes

open and willed his body to comply with her instructions.

But he needn't have worried. Once again Scully was there,

helping him, easing him onto his back and helping him lift

his leg up. A strange feeling came over him. A feeling he

vaguely remembered experiencing some time in his past. It

had been a long while since another person had cared for him

like this.

xXx

Scully gently slipped Mulder's shoe off and eased his sock

over the bandage. She could clearly see the ugly bulge at

the side of his ankle through the covering.

"We need to get some more ice on this. I'll be right back."

She gave Mulder's knee a light squeeze before disappearing

into the kitchen.

To Scully's surprise she found the kitchen was in pretty

good shape. In contrast to the disaster-zone he called a

living room, in here, the counters were clean and the floor

space uncluttered. Of course the fact that he rarely

cooked a meal for himself probably had a lot to do with it.

She pulled the freezer door open and expertly navigated her

hand around a frozen clump of...well...what might've once

been something edible in another life time. She pried the

icy mound loose with her fingers and found 3 plastic ice

trays lodged at the back. Pulling hard, she loosened them

from where they'd become stuck against the wall of the

freezer and set them on the sink. A couple of hard taps

against the side of the counter separated the trays.

While she searched the kitchen for a plastic bag and cloth,

Scully wondered about Mulder's personal life outside of the

office. She knew he didn't socialise with their colleagues.

Was there anyone he shared beer and pizza with at the end of

the day? She doubted it, he was too obsessed with his work.

Mulder's idea of a good time was to lock himself in his

office, forage through a bunch of case files and spend long

hours hunched over his computer researching the weird and

unexplained.

Did he ever date? She didn't think so. At least he never

mentioned it. Scully was surprised by the sudden ache in

her chest at the thought of Mulder sharing himself with

another woman. She paused, stared at the icepack now

securely wrapped in a terry cloth hand towel. Was she

jealous? Over Mulder? Scully snorted quietly and shrugged

the feeling off. He was her partner, her friend, it wasn't

unusual to feel a little territorial about someone you

worked closely with. Was it? Scully scooped up the ice

pack and filled a glass with water before returning to the

living room.

xXx

Mulder draped his arm across his forehead and tried to

concentrate on anything but the persistent throb in his

ankle. He attempted to distract himself with thoughts of

Max. Where was he? Could he still be alive? And would the

OPR see things his way tomorrow and sign off on a 302 so he

could finish his investigation?

"Mulder?" Scully's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

Mulder felt her cool hand wrap around his wrist. "Hey, you

awake?"

"Mmm, yeah." He rubbed at his eyes, now sore and gritty

with fatigue.

xXx

"I've got the ice, but before I put it on your ankle, I need

to take the bandage off." Carefully she raised his leg,

slid the cushion out from underneath and sat down, resting

his foot across her lap as she unwound the bandage. When

it came loose and his injury was exposed, Scully

could clearly see the bruise forming. A deep shade of blue

ringed the outside of his ankle, reached across the top of

his foot then snaked down with spindly purple fingers into

his heel.

"Do you have any ibuprofen? Tomorrow I'd like you to start

taking something to help reduce the inflammation." Scully

laid the icepack across his swollen ankle, careful not to

put too much pressure on it. Even so, Mulder flinched as

the ice made contact with his skin.

"No, uh-uh. Don't keep pain killers in my apartment."

"You don't...Why not?" The question was out before she'd

even had a chance to think about it. Her curiosity about

Mulder's reluctance to seek pain relief had been nagging at

her all evening, but she'd planned to time and phrase her

question a little more tactfully.

"It's a long story. Just let it go."

"Well, I've got some time on my hands at the moment. This

ice has to stay on for fifteen minutes. And if I've gotta

sit here with your foot propped on my lap, the least you can

do is keep me entertained." She smiled at him even though

she doubted he could see her from under his arm.

Mulder lowered the arm from across his eyes and stared at

his partner in silence.

"Come on Mulder, it can't be that bad."

"You don't know the half of it, Scully." The arm fell back

across his forehead, but in that fleeting moment while he'd

been looking at her, Scully had seen a wealth of pain in his

expression. She gently tugged at the other arm resting on

his chest, and covered Mulder's hand with one of hers.

xXx

Mulder felt an odd, dull ache where his heart was beating.

He was pretty good at keeping his emotions in check most of

the time, hell when he thought about it, he'd become an

expert at it over the past 20 years. What was it about

Scully and the way she spoke to him, looked at him, that had

stiff, neglected feelings staggering to the surface again?

Reluctantly, he let his arm slide from his face, but kept

his eyes closed. He drew in a deep breath and let the words

spill out as he exhaled.

"I think I told you that after Samantha disappeared, things

didn't go exactly smoothly in our household. The upshot of

it is that neither of my parents coped well. Dad lost

himself in his work during the day and in a whisky bottle at

night. Mom, slept a lot the first few weeks after we lost

Sam."

He paused, licked his lips before continuing on in a low,

even monotone. "Eventually, she started to spend more time

awake." Mulder snorted a bitter, humourless laugh. "Maybe

awake isn't the right word. She was out of bed, but by no

means awake, at least not in the way most people think of

wakefulness. At first she was careful about how she popped

her pills. She tried to hide it from me, and always had an

excuse if I caught her swallowing 3 or 4 of them down in one

go. But, over time she stopped caring whether I saw her or

not. The 3 or 4 turned into 5 or 6. In the mornings she'd

pour a juice for me and one for herself and swallow the

pills in lieu of breakfast. Then she'd smile at me. "They

help me cope, Fox. You understand, don't you?" Yeah, I

understood all right. I understood that my mother floated

around the house all day, barely aware of her surroundings,

and at night my father shut himself in the study and drank

himself into oblivion."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, suddenly

realising that Scully's hold on his hand was no longer

gentle but had tightened into a strong, hard grip, as if by

tightening her hold she could somehow tether him to the here

and now and not lose him to the past. "But that's not what

you asked, is it Scully?"

"Mulder...I'm

"No. It's okay. I've come this far, I might as well

finish. Sometime later, I'm not exactly sure when, I got

sick. I don't even remember what was wrong with me. I do

know that I had a raging fever and the worst headache I've

ever had in my life. And while I was usually able to take

care of myself, this time I was too far gone. I'm not sure

why mom didn't get a doctor or take me to the hospital.

Perhaps in her drug addled haze she didn't realise how sick

I was, perhaps she'd had enough of doctors herself. There

were a lot of medical people of one type or another in our

home after Samantha was taken.

"Anyway, whatever her reasons, she decided the best way to

make me feel better was to use the method that made her feel

better. She dosed me up with pills. From what I've been

told, she started out giving me Tylenol, but when I didn't

respond she decided to experiment with the help her own

private pharmaceutical supply. I believe Demerol featured

pretty heavily in the equation. Apparently after a day or

two it got to a point where she couldn't rouse me. On some

level of her consciousness it must have registered that

something was very wrong. She called Dad at work, not an

action she would normally take lightly. He came home, found

me unconscious in my bed and called an ambulance. My mother

told the doctors what she'd done."

Mulder paused, sighing deeply before continuing. "She

wasn't trying to hurt me, Scully. She thought she was

helping. There was no point pumping my stomach, most of the

medication had been absorbed into my body. It was just a

matter of waiting for the drugs to leave my system. As you

can imagine there was an investigation: psychiatrists for my

mother, psychologists for me. Anyway, to cut a long story

short, it was not long after my little hospital adventure

that my parents divorced.

"My father is a hard man to please and my mother had failed

him. He didn't see the part he'd played in her downfall at

all: locking himself away at night, having nothing to do

with us. In my father's mind he had a loser for a son, and

a nutcase for a wife. I've seen the effects of medication,

Scully. And to put it mildly, I prefer to stay off them as

much as I can."

Mulder squirmed on the couch. "Um, Scully. Is time up yet?

It's kinda starting to hurt." He nodded towards the icepack

on his ankle.

"Oh. Sorry." She checked her watch. "Couple more minutes

should do it. Mulder, there's a big difference between

taking pain medication in prescribed doses and what your mom

did to help her cope with emotional problems. You're not

your mother, Mulder. There's no reason to think that what

happened to her will happen to you."

"Yeah. But what if I'm like my father? Both my parents

abused substances to help them deal with their problems.

What if I'm genetically predisposed to drug or alcohol

dependency? My mom sought professional help after I got

sick, she recovered. I feel sorry for what she went

through, and on some level I understand, but I can't forgive

my father. He wasn't there for us, Scully. I know he

blames me for losing Sam. But he had no right to take it

out on my mother."

"Mulder! He had no right to take it out on you either.

You're not to blame for what happened to your sister."

Scully pulled herself up a little straighter, only

remembering she had Mulder's ankle cradled in her lap when

she heard him gasp. Lost in her own anger and shock at what

her partner had suffered as a child, she'd moved quickly,

forgetting to steady his foot.

"I was in charge when Samantha was taken. It *was* my

fault."

"You were a child. Bad things happen every day in this

world, Mulder, you know that. And while it's easier to cope

if the blame can be attributed directly to someone or

something, sometimes there simply isn't a cut and dried

explanation. Your father had no right to make you feel as

if it was your fault either directly or indirectly. He was

wrong."

"But I'm not a child now, Scully, and look what happened to

Max. I couldn't stop him from being abducted, and this time

I *knew* they were coming after him. It's getting a little

hard to explain it all away with coincidence, don't you

think?"

"It has nothing to do with coincidence. You've dedicated

your life to finding your sister, to discovering the truth

behind her disappearance. And in doing so, you are going to

be in situations where you come face to face with other

victims of unexplained phenomena. It stands to reason that

during your investigations you will sometimes be in the same

proximity as the victims when the phenomena occurs. Just

because you are there doesn't mean you're to blame."

"Scully, can you take the ice off now? It is *really*

starting to hurt." He pushed himself up into a sitting

position and leant forward so he could reach the ice pack.

"Mulder, sit back. Let me take care of it." Scully removed

the ice and supported his leg as she slipped off the couch,

repositioning his foot on the cushions. She moved over to

sit on the coffee table where she could roll up the bandage

in preparation to rebind Mulder's ankle. She noticed her

partner's restless movements, his hand constantly kneading

his leg just above the knee.

"You're in pain, Mulder. As a doctor, I can assure you that

taking painkillers as per the recommended dosage will not

cause you to become dependent on them." Scully dug into her

pocket and pulled out the Tylenol. She popped three of the

capsules from the blister pack and handed them to Mulder

along with the glass of water she'd brought from the kitchen

earlier. "Take them. It will serve no good purpose to

anyone if you spend the rest of the night in pain. And

besides, you need to get some sleep if you have any chance

of convincing the OPR that you have a legitimate reason to

continue investigating what happened to Max."

Tentatively Mulder reached out his hand and took the pills

from Scully. He stared at them for a few seconds, debating

with himself whether or not to take them. Old habits were

hard to shake, and he'd already taken 3 on the plane. Then,

almost as if his foot sensed his hesitation it upped the

ante and throbbed harder. Scully was right, there was no

way he'd be able to sleep tonight unless he did something to

ease the pain. He threw the pills back and swallowed them

with the water. "Thanks, Scully."

She stared back at him and gave him a smile, "You're

welcome."

Mulder leaned back against the arm rest, studying his

partner intently. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you still here?"

Scully checked her watch. God, look at the time! 2:am.

Mulder was right, they'd never be able to get up in the

morning. She started to pick up the ice pack, readying

herself to take it back to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Mulder,

I knew it was late, but I didn't realise *how* late. I'll

get going and..." She stopped speaking when Mulder snagged

her wrist, stilling her hand from packing up the things on

the coffee table. He pulled her towards the couch so she

was sitting by his hips.

"I don't mean here. Tonight. I mean why haven't you gone

running to Blevins begging for reassignment? They've tried

to partner me with other agents before, Scully, and none of

them have lasted more than two weeks."

Scully looked long and hard at the man before her. She felt

a little annoyed that he had to ask, but at the same time

pleased that she'd outlasted all other attempts by the FBI

to set Mulder up with a partner. Why had she stayed? She'd

asked herself the same question earlier in their

partnership. She certainly hadn't achieved what she'd

originally set out to do: emancipate Mulder from his

paranormal shackles. In fact, if anything it was Mulder who

had set her free from the rigid confines of her own

scientific boundaries, opened the door to a whole different

dimension of investigational possibilities. Allowed her to

bend the rules of science, search beyond what she'd always

held sacred, and question the unyielding beliefs that had

been drummed into her throughout her studies. This freedom

had also allowed her to use her knowledge to help solve

their cases, to prove to Mulder that there is a place for

conventional science in his world of paranormal

implausibilities. But more than that she liked her partner.

Mulder wasn't just a work colleague, he was her friend. She

enjoyed their intellectual sparring matches, she enjoyed

being challenged and meeting that challenge head on.

"Scully?"

"You're asking me why I'm still with the X files?"

Mulder nodded, not taking his eyes from his partner.

"Because I want to be. Because we do good work together.

Where else in the Bureau would I have the opportunity to

investigate space craft built from alien technology,

computers with their own intelligence, a killer worm with a

really bad temper, werewolves, beast women...well, maybe I

could encounter the odd beastwoman or two during the red

light sales in Walmart...Mulder, I love my work with you,

there's no place I'd rather be." As an afterthought she

added, "Why? Were you planning on getting rid of me?"

"NO! Hell no! Could you imagine my medical bills if you

weren't my partner?"

"Well, the thought had occurred to me once or twice."

"What thought?"

"That maybe the plan wasn't for me to debunk your work at

all, but rather to save the Bureau on hospital expenses."

"Scully!"

"You've gotta admit, Mulder, I've certainly managed to keep

my finger on the medical pulse since being teamed up with

you."

"Scully, will you do me a favour?"

"Hmmm. Maybe." She smiled at him.

"Open the top drawer of my desk."

"This isn't where the jack-in-the-box jumps out and says

BOO! is it?"

"Just open it."

"O-kaaay." Scully stood up and moved to Mulder's desk,

pulling the top drawer out. "What am I looking for?"

"A key. It should be under those pieces of paper on top

there."

"All right, yes, I've got it."

"That's the spare to my apartment. I want you to have it.

Just in case."

"Just in case of what, Mulder?"

"An emergency. Or in case I get called out of town

unexpectedly and I need someone to feed my fish, collect my

mail, take in the newspapers, that kind of thing."

Scully stared at the key nestled in her hand. Mulder had

never told her outright that he'd accepted her as his

partner. Or his friend. But he didn't have to. He had

shown her in so many different ways over the past months.

But this. This was something more concrete. Proof. That

her intuition had been right, that the time and energy she

had invested in this partnership was time and energy well

spent.

"Scully?"

She turned and smiled at him. "I'd love to, Mulder."

"It's a door key, Scully, not an engagement ring."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. "I know that."

"Well, just as long as we've got that straight." He smiled

back at her, then his expression turned serious again,

almost nervous. "Um...While I'm on a roll, there's one more

thing."

"Something else?"

"I've been meaning to ask you for awhile. Actually, ask is

probably not the right word. I've been meaning to inform

you. I've put you down as my next-of-kin."

"Mu... Why? What about your mom?"

"My mom doesn't cope with medical emergencies very well. She

hasn't since...since I got sick that time. I'd just prefer

not to have her involved if something...well, if I'm not in

a position where I can sign consent forms for myself. Look,

if you'd rather not, I understand. It's a big ask to spring

on you like this, I can take you off the form tomorrow..."

"Mulder. Don't. I'm fine with it. Flattered actually,

that you would think of me."

Mulder gave a soft chuckle. "Who else would I ask, Scully?

You're the only person I know who doesn't look at me as if I

should be permanently incarcerated in a padded cell wearing

the latest in straight-jacket fashion."

"Thanks, Mulder."

"You're thanking me?"

"Yes. I am. For trusting me enough to ask." Scully held

his gaze for a few seconds, then realised something: for the

first time since leaving Townsend she could see a different

light in his eyes. The long belaboured look of self

recrimination and self doubt had been replaced with an

expression more along the lines of relief, and if she looked

really hard she could almost imagine she saw a certain kind

of happiness there as well. Scully slipped the key into her

pocket, gently running her finger along the serrated edge

before letting it go and turning her attention back to

Mulder's medical needs. The neatly rolled bandage lay on

the coffee table. Scully picked it up and juggled it once

or twice in the palm of her hand. "Let me wrap your ankle,

then I better get out of here. We *both* need some sleep."

xXx

Mulder drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. It was

the first time he'd given any part of himself to anyone in a

very long time. So long in fact, that he almost didn't

recognise the quiet euphoric buzz that accompanied the act.

It felt as if his whole body had just sighed a huge breath

of relief, the muscles across his shoulders had loosened,

the tight bunched feeling replaced with...well...with

nothing at all. That was the point wasn't it. You didn't

notice those muscles until they started to hurt or tense up.

He hadn't been sure how Scully would react when he asked her

to be his next of kin. He'd always thought Scully was

different, but to open himself up to her, request something

of her that required more than just partnerly duty had

scared him a little. But she'd reacted exactly as he'd

hoped, and yes, he did feel relieved, not only because she'd

agreed to his request, but also for what it symbolised. He

felt as if their friendship had been stamped with an

official seal. Been formalised. And he had to admit to

himself, it felt good. Pretty damn good.

Mulder allowed himself to relax into the soft leather

cushioning of his couch while giving himself up to Scully's

ministrations. The throb had eased a little. It was still

there, but now reduced to a dull ache rather than the

resounding bass-like pulsing of a few minutes ago. He

figured that once the painkillers fully kicked in he might

even be able to sleep. Already there was a heavy kind of

lethargy settling over his body. And something else as

well, a pressing need that he would have to attend to before

Scully left, or at least get her to help him.

Scully put the finishing touches to the bandage on Mulder's

ankle. She stood up straight and put her hands on her hips,

leaning to the left then the right attempting to ease stiff

muscles in her back. She stretched her hands above her head

then covered her mouth as she yawned. Yes, she could

definitely do with some sleep. She bent over and picked up

the ice pack and empty glass then headed into the kitchen.

She discarded the ice in the sink, put the soggy plastic bag

into the trash, filled up the ice trays and returned them to

the freezer. She then topped Mulder's glass up with water

before returning to the living room.

"Mulder! What are you doing?" What the hell was wrong

with him? He was sitting on the edge of the couch, both

feet resting on the floor, and by the look on his face, it

hadn't been a smooth transition. The ghostly pallor had

returned to his skin, and little trickles of sweat edged

down the side of his face.

"I gotta use the bathroom, Scully."

"Really, and how did you think you were going to get there?"

"I had a plan."

"I can imagine. Here, let me help you."

"I don't think so. I'm a big boy, I can use the bathroom on

my own. But you can do me a favour."

"Just for something different, huh? I'm going to start

keeping score, Mulder."

"Ha, ha. Over there, in the closet, I've got some

crutches..."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

"You gonna rag on me or are you gonna help me?"

Scully put the glass of water on the coffee table and laid

the packet of Tylenol beside it. If Mulder woke up in pain

at least he wouldn't have to go far for relief. She walked

over to the closet, put her hand on the knob and pulled.

"No! Wait!" Mulder's warning cry was too late. Boxes,

files, a basketball and a broken lamp came tumbling out of

the closet and landed at Scully's feet. She managed to jump

out of the way just as a lone crutch toppled across the

other bits and pieces scattered on the floor. Hmm, I wonder

where its mate is, Scully thought to herself. And almost as

if answering her question, the other crutch fell from the

opposite side of the closet and landed across the first one,

like a giant medical crucifix.

"Is this your version of a Tupperware cupboard, Mulder?" She

asked, thinking of the various plastic gadgets and

containers that repeatedly spilled from her own over-crowded

kitchen shelves.

Mulder grimaced as he stared at the mess surrounding his

partner. "I tried to warn you."

"Well, at least we found what we were looking for." Scully

picked up the crutches, side-stepping the boxes and files.

She gently soccered the basketball out of the way with her

toe, then made her way over to Mulder. She handed him the

crutches. "I'll wait out here till you get back."

Mulder glared at her, but he really wasn't angry. After all

she'd just risked life and limb getting him the crutches so

he could go to the bathroom on his own.

A few minutes later, Mulder returned, without incident.

Scully gave him a surreptitious inspection, relieved to see

he looked as if he'd managed the task without causing

himself further injury. She helped him settle onto the

couch, propped his foot on the cushions and covered him with

the afghan blanket that had been folded over the back of his

couch. As a finishing touch, she leaned the crutches

against the wall just behind his head.

"Where's your cellphone, Mulder?"

"In my jacket pocket."

"Is it still charged?"

"I'm not sure." He pulled the phone from his pocket and

handed it to Scully. She checked the battery, and satisfied

it wasn't going to die during what was left of the night,

set it beside the water and Tylenol.

"Okay, Mulder. If the pain gets worse during the night,

you've got pain meds and water here. If it becomes

unbearable and you can't sleep, call me. All right?"

"Scully..."

"Call me."

"Okay, already."

"How's the pain now?"

"Better, actually."

She studied his face for a few seconds, looking for any

telltale signs of 'Mulderbullshit.' But, she had to admit,

he did look better, better than he had all night. "Good."

She did a quick circuit of the apartment making sure

everything was in order. "I'll be back first thing in the

morning to ice your ankle again before we leave for the

office. Do not attempt to put weight on it or walk without

the crutches. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

She softened her tone. "Mulder, it's going to be all right.

Once I explain to McGrath the circumstances of what

happened, he'll have no choice but to sign off on the 302.

Max's disappearance is unexplained. That makes it an X

File. It's *our* case."

"Yeah, maybe. But, you don't know these people, Scully.

Their whole existence is based on denial."

"Let's worry about that in the morning, right now we both

need some sleep. Can I get you anything before I go?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay, 'night, Mulder."

"G'night, Scully. And, thanks."

She smiled at him then slipped through the open door,

shutting it quietly behind her.

Mulder watched his partner leave. Suddenly his apartment

felt very empty. He let his gaze roam around the living

room, noting the water and pills on the coffee table, the

crutches within easy reach leaning against the wall. And he

figured that despite the crap constantly dished out to him

time and again throughout his life, somewhere along the way

he must have done something right to end up with Scully as

his partner and his friend. The dread of facing the OPR

hearing tomorrow somehow didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

Scully's optimism was contagious. Maybe this time tomorrow

they would be back in Wisconsin in an official capacity and

without Henderson blocking them at every turn, maybe they'd

even find Max.

Mulder smiled to himself. Scully truly amazed him

sometimes. Even though he knew that the mere notion of

alien abduction went against all her beliefs as a scientist,

she was still willing to back him up, to go through the

proper channels so they could return to Wisconsin together.

With his injury, he knew he was going to need her with him

more than ever. And she would be there. Despite their

differences Scully wouldn't let him down.

Mulder snuggled down on the couch, pulling the rug up to his

chin. He felt himself sink lower into the soft leather

cushions, allowed the heavy lethargy to wash over him as

sleep nipped at the edges of his consciousness. "'night,

Scully," he whispered into the silence, "see you in the

morning."

The end.

You made it! Congratulations!


End file.
